Folie A Deux
by Tempestt
Summary: Sam and Dean hunt evil, but Hendrickson thinks they are monsters.  Why is that?


Disclaimer: I don't own or make a profit from Supernatural.

Warning: Rated for gore and gruesomeness….and dismembered baby parts. Not graphic, but you know…it's mentioned. Yeah…I have to go hug my daughter now.

A/N: I really should be working on my many other projects right now…but why would I do that when I could just freak myself out?

Folie A Deux

_Folie A Deux: A madness shared by two._

Laura woke with a start. She lay very still, all of her senses alert, her ears and eyes straining in the darkness. She wasn't certain what had disturbed her. It could have been a noise, but it felt more like a shift in the air. Something else in the shadows, filling more of her area than was normal.

She had just bought her two-story house not more than six months ago and she was still adjusting to the extra space. She was used to a small, contained one-bedroom apartment, and not an older house with all the creaks and groans that came with it.

Like any responsible woman living alone she was hyper-paranoid. Every evening she made sure to check that her windows and doors were locked before going to bed. She kept a baseball bat by her headboard, and her cell phone was close at hand.

She glanced at the nightstand, noting that the green face of her alarm clock put the time at two a.m. As she glanced back towards her open door a flickering shadow down the hall caught her attention. Her breath snagged in her throat, and she immediately froze. She couldn't be sure that she saw someone in her house or if it was the big elm tree in her front yard that cast a lattice of shadows through the window at the end of the hallway. It could have easily been the wind playing tricks on her eyes.

Very slowly she sat up in her bed, letting her rose duvet fall into a puddle in her lap. She sat there for indeterminable minutes, staring into the darkness before she decided that there was nothing to be worried about. She was still having a hard time transitioning into her new home. That was all. With a sigh she slid out of bed and made her way in the dark to the bathroom.

She switched on the light, blinking as she was momentarily blinded. She closed the door out of habit while she did her business, wondering if it was a sign of old age that she had to pee every time she woke up. She wasn't even forty yet and she was feeling geriatric.

She flushed the toilet, washed her hands and flipped off the light before opening the door. Her eyes were still trying to adjust to the darkness when rough hands reached out and grabbed her around the neck. She tried to scream, but it was quickly aborted by a big hand covering her mouth and nose. She could smell the leather of the man's glove, and feel the strength of his body as he pulled her flush against him.

She struggled as hard as she could, wishing that she had taken up her friend Katie's offer to join a kickboxing class at the local gym. She wasn't a weakling, but she was no match for the man who held her. She estimated that he topped her by at least six inches and outweighed her by a hundred pounds.

Out of the darkness a second form appeared and instinctually she kicked out her bare foot, grunting when her toes mashed against his shin. The man in front of her hissed, and backed away, undamaged.

"Dammit, Sam. Get her under control," the second man barked.

"Dude. She's squirmy," the man who held her replied, readjusting his grip until it felt like he was squeezing the air out of her lungs.

The dark form in front of her skirted in closer to grab her hands. He wrenched them in front of her and tied them with a length of coarse hemp rope. With her arms tied, it was easy for him to wrap his arms around her upper thighs, pinning them together before sliding down her legs until he reached her ankles. He just as quickly and efficiently tied her feet together as well.

He stood up in front of her, taking out a piece of cloth. It shone white in the darkness, and she had no problem making out that it was a hankie of some sort. Abruptly the other man removed his hand from her mouth, but before she could draw the breath to scream, the other guy shoved the rag between her teeth, tying it behind her head. He was careless and he caught the long strands of her hair in the knot, pulling them painfully. She yelped behind the gag, but they ignored her. The big guy picked her up effortlessly, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and started carrying her down the stairs.

Laura was terrified. She had no idea what they wanted from her. Actually, she did have inkling. She wasn't dumb. She watched Law and Order and CSI. She was single for crying out loud, she didn't have anything better to do than indulge in prime time television. But she was just a middle school teacher. She had no husband, no rich family willing to pay a ransom. She wasn't prominent or all that well known. She didn't have any enemies or even any friends who wanted to off her because they were jealous. _Yeah, she needed to lay off the crime shows._

She was a single woman, alone in a house where no one would hear her scream. Those implications were what terrified her. Undoubtedly, they were going to rape and kill her. _Damn, she should have taken that class._

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to concentrate on the here and now, and not what her immediate future might hold. Her head bounced against the man's back as he landed in the foyer. Instead of heading out the front door he turned towards the back of the house where the kitchen was at. She whimpered, her agile mind listing every sharp, lethal cooking utensil she kept there. Anything they could use to hurt or kill her.

She was just damning her recent purchase of a roasting fork when he made a turn and started down a second set of steps. Behind him, the second man flipped a switch and light flooded around them, but with her hair over her face she still couldn't see anything. They were taking her into the basement. They could torture her for hours down there and no one would know it. It was completely sound proof.

Laura went ballistic. She squirmed on the man's shoulder, throwing her weight to the side in an effort to slide off him, hoping against hope that she could unbalance him and cause him to fall. Bouncing down the stairs might kill her, but she counted it as a win if she could break his neck while doing it. He easily contained her struggles by clamping his arm down tighter on her upper legs, keeping her firmly anchored.

The man stepped off the last stair, finally pausing, his entire body shuddering under hers. The man gripped her thigh until she was sure that bruises were blooming under his steely fingers. She was aware of a presence behind him, just at the back of her head, but she could lift her neck up to see the second guy.

"I think I'm going to be sick," the man holding her said, hunching slightly at the words.

"What the hell, Sam? Move," the man directly behind her head ordered.

Sam stepped aside, allowing the second man to step down off the stairs. He paused next to his partner, his breath whooshing out of him loudly.

"Christ," he breathed.

"Are those children's body parts hanging from the ceiling?" Sam asked his words barely loud enough for her to hear.

She stiffened on his shoulder, revolted. They had found her collection. All her beautiful toys. They were going to touch them, defile them. They were just _things_, but they were her things. They were her treasures, and they made her happy. It almost seemed worse that they would abuse her here in her sanctum.

"C'mon, Sam."

She sensed the second man stepping away, moving further into her work room. She tried to struggle again, but the man's painful grip on her legs deterred her.

"I don't think I can, Dean."

She heard a scrap of a heel, and she knew that Dean must have turned back to face Sam.

"You're the one who said she had to be sacrificed on her alter."

Laura began screaming behind her gag, writhing violently. The word sacrifice might be classier than murder, but dead was dead, and she wasn't keen on either vernacular. From nowhere, she was plucked off Sam's shoulder and for the first time she got an up close look at Dean.

His glacier-cold, green eyes were narrowed dangerously, and his mouth was set in a thin line that screamed death and mayhem. He cradled her in his arms like she was precious, holding her close to his chest, then he squeezed her tight, and her eyes bulged as she stared at him.

"Keep it up, bitch and I'll make sure that it hurts."

His words quickly bullied her into submission, and he carted her further into the basement. He dropped her onto her work table, not bothering to clear it first. Tools and discarded parts jabbed her painfully in the back as he secured her arms above her head. Next he tied her feet down, after a brief fight where she tried to kick him.

"Sam."

Dean's voice was soft, but she could hear the hard core of steel beneath it.

"Dean. I don't think---Oh, God. There are babies here. Just little ones a couple months old."

"Sammy, I know this sucks. Just don't look at them. It's hard, but if we don't do this right then she'll just keep doing it. We can't just kill her. We have to banish her spirit."

Dean's tone was sympathetic and calm. It was full of love and understanding. For just a second she wished she was on the receiving end of such warmth. Aside from a couple of boyfriends through the years she had never had someone speak to her like that. She had long ago reconciled herself to the fact that she was going to end up a spinster. She had even thought about getting herself a cat to round out the image. On retrospect, she should have got a dog. A great, big, behemoth of a monster that would chew these mad men to bits.

She heard a shuffle as Sam scooted forward. Finally she was able to see him, and she was shocked at how young and innocent he looked. His eyes weren't filled with the same wrathful fury as the other man's. Instead his hazel eyes were brimming with heart-wrenching sadness. She almost wished her arms were free so she could reach out and hug him. He looked like one of her children. A lost little baby who needed someone to hold him.

"Alright. How do we do this?"

When Dean spoke, her eyes darted towards him. He was glaring at her still and she couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through her body. Even though she had just peed, she could feel heaviness in her bladder again. Briefly she wondered how long it would take for someone to find her body. It was Friday night, so it wouldn't be until Monday when she didn't show up for school that someone would miss her. Even then there was no guarantee that someone would come looking for her. Maybe it was a good thing that she hadn't bought that cat, although if she was dead, she really wouldn't care if she became kitty chow for a hungry feline.

Sam swiped a big hand across his face, and she could tell that he was very studiously keeping his eyes away from her collection. She wondered why it bothered him so much. They were so beautiful. She supposed it would be a little disconcerting to see them dismembered like they were. When she assembled them they were absolutely breathtaking. The thought that she would never again be able to sit at her bench and sow them together broke her heart.

She cast her eyes around the room, looking at the different alabaster limbs and collection of hair. She was going to miss running her fingers through the silky strands, and straightening their little arms and legs. Well maybe not. It wasn't possible to miss anything when you're dead.

"Okay, according to this, we have to cut out her uterus and burn it in a cast iron bowl."

Laura choked on her gag. She wrenched her eyes away from her toys, her gaze darting between the two men. She bucked on the table, trying her hardest to slip her hands free to no avail. They barely glanced her way as they looked at a passage to an old, leather-bound book, their heads bent closely together.

They were insane. Not just the usual, rape and kill insane, but truly diabolical monsters. She couldn't imagine people who existed in this world who actually committed such atrocities. She couldn't wrap her mind around it. The very concept of it belonged in horror movies or maybe Criminal Minds. No one really _did_ those things. No one would really _do_ those things to her. She was a school teacher for Christ's sake.

"That's a little too hands on, even for us, Sam. Can't we just stab her through the heart or something?"

Oddly, Laura found Dean's words to be comforting. In the scheme of _oh my God, this is horrific _the thought of being stabbed quickly and cleanly through the heart was a hundred times more appealing that having her uterus removed from her body.

Her bladder was starting to feel heavy again, and she pressed her thighs together. She wondered if she would lose control of it when they finally did kill her. The most likely scenario was yes. Eventually the cops would find her rotting, decomposing corpse in a puddle of her own urine. Probably congealed blood too.

_Wow. No open casket funeral for her._

"No. If we don't want her spirit reincarnating in fifty years we have to do it this way. This will destroy her completely."

"Okay." Dean breathed heavily, and Laura heard something metallic slide across leather.

Her eyes grew impossibly wide as he unsheathed the biggest knife she had ever seen. She bucked against the restraints again, trying to appeal to her captors with her eyes. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to be gutted like some cow in a slaughterhouse.

"Dean, there's more."

_Oh, God. How could there be more? Wasn't this bad enough? He was going to stab her with a freaking sword!_

"She has to be alive while her uterus is burning."

_WHAT! What the fuck! Oh my God_. It was just getting so much worse. They just weren't going to kill her; they were going to torture her. She wished she didn't have a rag stuffed between her teeth, because she would beg them. Get down on her knees and beg them to kill her quick. To please, please don't do this to her. Don't hurt her. _Oh God, don't hurt me!_

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean exploded, but Laura was barely paying attention as her sanity did a downward spiral. "Let me see this."

Dean yanked the book away from Sam, reading the passage intensely. While he was doing that, Sam left her line of sight, and she could hear him rummaging around for something.

"Here use this. That Bowie of yours will cause too much damage."

Dean looked up from the book, his mouth drawn down into a grimace. He took a scalpel from Sam, handing back the book while he did so.

He glanced at Laura, and she rocked her head back and forth vehemently. She could feel the tears trailing down her temples, soaking her hair. Snot was flowing out of her nose, clotting on the rag in her mouth, but she didn't care. She was scared. The most scared she had ever been in her entire life, and that included that time in high school when Jimmy Bohr wrecked the car while she was in the front seat.

"Are you sure she won't die before it's done burning. I mean, dude. That's a lot of blood loss."

"Dean. She's supernatural. Remember?"

"Yah." He didn't sound convinced, but he gripped the scalpel with renewed purpose, slicing open her pajama top and baring her midriff.

"Here, I brought an anatomy book. It shows how to remove it."

They took some time to review the book, but Laura had stopped watching them. Snot was rolling down her throat, and she choked a little, but it wasn't enough to kill her. Unfortunately. She took the time to look back on her life, to review her successes and failures.

She never got to take that trip to Italy she always dreamed of. She had so wanted to see the Vatican and the treasures ensconced there. Of course she had secretly fantasized about meeting some handsome Italian playboy who would sweep her off to his yacht. Apparently, she could add spending too many hours reading romance novels to her list of failures.

She did achieve her one true dream though. So that was good, at least. Since she was ten she knew that she wanted to be a school teacher. She had always loved school. Loved children. She went straight to college after high school and got her credentials as quick as she could. Being a middle school teacher was wonderful. It filled a void in her that was left behind as the years passed and no husband made an appearance and the thought of having children became fleeting.

She was glad that her parents were no longer alive. She couldn't imagine the grief her mother would have endured at the knowledge that her only baby died so horribly. Her dad probably would have had a stroke right on the spot. He always did have a bad heart. Maybe it was just as well that she was all alone. She couldn't bear the thought of anyone suffering at her loss.

Suddenly, Dean was looming over her, and she was jerked out of her thoughts. His mouth was pressed into a determined line and she knew that she wouldn't find any mercy from him. Her eyes shot to Sam, but while his eyes held an iota of sympathy, they were unwavering. He held a book open for Dean and she could see intricate drawings of female organs.

She felt pressure just below her belly button, and then there was a prick. She could feel something warm and wet roll over the taut skin of her stomach and down her sides. Then the fire started in her insides. Searing, aching, unbearable. Her eyes rolled back, and behind her gag she screamed as loud as she could.

She screamed until her throat was raw. She screamed as a rancid, acrid smell filled the air. Laura was still screaming when the darkness rose up to claim her, pulling her down into its dark depths.

8888

Special Agent Hendrickson arrived at the small, suburban home outside Hobart, Oklahoma at one p.m. Tuesday morning. His partner, coffee in one hand, notepad in another, met him outside.

"What do we have?" Hendrickson questioned without breaking his stride. He marched up the winding walkway that was lined with pots of blooming gardenias.

"Laura Douglas. Thirty-seven. Single, no children. A Language Arts teacher at Hobart Middle School. She was found earlier today by a co-worker who was worried when she didn't show up for work the last two days and didn't call in sick. The front door was unlocked, no signs of forced entry, but they think it might have been picked. An expert job."

They entered the house, flashing their badges to the local PD who barely glanced their way. A few of the men that they passed looked more than a little green, and Hendrickson knew that it didn't bode well for what he was about to see. It wasn't hard to figure out where the crime had been committed. There was a trail of cops leading to the back of the house, and the cellar door stood open ominously.

"What else?"

"Well, from what the M.E. was able to ascertain, she died sometime early Saturday morning between twelve and four. It wasn't an easy death either. Her uterus was removed and burned."

Hendrickson paused, half-way down the steps and threw a questioning look back at his partner. Reed was looking a little green himself as he spoke.

"By the amount of blood, he's pretty sure that she was still alive when they did it." He added softly and Hendrickson swallowed down his bile.

He turned away from his partner, unwilling to let anyone see how deeply such a monstrosity affected him. Reed cleared his throat, regaining his equilibrium enough to continue.

"From all accounts, Ms. Douglas was an upstanding citizen. She made dolls and gave them to the girls at the local orphanage. I guess she felt so guilty that she couldn't make anything for the boys that she saved up all year to buy them gifts too so they wouldn't feel left out. Her co-worker called her a real saint."

They entered in the basement, their eyes drawn immediately to the doll limbs that hung on racks from the ceiling. It was a little creepy, but only because at first glance they seemed real. Hendrickson reached up to brush his hand against a dismembered arm, feeling the coolness of the alabaster on his fingers. Wigs of different colors were set up on mannequin heads against the wall, and below that jars of different colored, glass eyes were collected.

They pushed further into the room, grinding to a halt as the grizzly crime scene revealed itself. Hendrickson had ordered that nothing be touched before he arrived, and the body was still splayed out on a rough-hewn, wooden work table in the center of the room. It was obvious from the scattered tools and doll parts that it was the table that she used while assembling her beautiful, porcelain toys.

Laura's hand were tied above her head, the rope stretching under the table and fastened to a hook. Her dishwater blonde hair was haloed around her head, the curly tips flowing off the table. Thick, black blood surrounded the body, dripping over the edges to form puddles on the cold, cement slab.

Her Snoopy pajama top was sliced open, but her bottoms were still intact. Hendrickson felt a moment of relief that she probably hadn't been raped. It was bad enough that she had been horribly tortured and murdered without having to add that to the list.

Even from where they were standing they could see the gaping hole in her abdomen where her insides had been stretched wide and dug around in. Hendrickson couldn't see her face from their angle, but he was sure that when he drew closer he would see her absolute horror reflected in her cloudy eyes.

He swallowed hard, making sure that his nerves were steady before he spoke. Fifteen years on the job and he didn't think he would ever get used to such atrocities.

"How do we know it was the Winchesters?"

"You know that cast iron cauldron that we got them on tape stealing from that museum in Texas last week?"

Hendrickson nodded, remembering clearly yet another failure to capture the Winchester boys.

"They used it to burn her---to burn _it_ in."

_Monsters_.

Hendrickson's fists curled at his sides and his jaw clenched. They had slipped through his fingers too many times and innocents like Laura Douglas paid the price. The next time he caught up with them, he wouldn't make the same mistakes. All it would take was a well placed bullet, and he could claim self-defense. No one would question it. Not after what they had done.

They were monsters, and monsters needed to be slain.

A/N: I'm sorry. I'm so very, very sorry. I love our boys, I really do. I just couldn't stop myself.


End file.
